


Keep on Rolling Under the Stars

by sleepypercy



Series: Kerouac Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M, PWP, boys unrelated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepypercy/pseuds/sleepypercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sam's father cockblocked their plans, Dean goes to a bar to console himself. But after a few drinks, he ends up outside Sam's window.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep on Rolling Under the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Jack Kerouac's _On the Road_.  
>  Much love to [cosmonaught](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmonaught/pseuds/cosmonaught) for the beta.

Dean was drunk. Well, not yet, but he planned on fixing that before the sun rose.  
  
His thumb slid through the condensation at the base of his bottle as he contemplated how many beers it would take before the sensory memory of Sam’s smooth skin and salt-laced heat would start to blur. Whiskey would have gotten the job done much faster, but beer had that slow, fuzzy-edged comfort that Dean preferred at the moment.  
  
When he shoved a cold hand into his pocket, he could feel the tiny peak of the folded paper where Sam had written down his information just before his father had firmly ushered him into the car, effectively turning all of their plans sideways. But as Dean’s fingers brushed against the note, a fantastic, alcohol-induced idea curled into his mind, and he quickly drained the rest of his beer before getting up to pay his tab. He was nowhere near as drunk as he’d planned to be, but his current level of slightly-buzzed was fucking perfect.  
  
Fifteen minutes and a short cab ride later, Dean was standing outside Sam’s window. He watched the boy read by the glow of his desk lamp with his long body sprawled belly-down on his bed and his legs crossed behind him. It was almost too picturesque to disturb. But Dean hadn’t come to just look. So he rapped on the window, feeling amusement shake across his shoulders when Sam dropped his book and whipped his head towards the sharp sound. The instant Sam caught sight of Dean waiting patiently on the other side of the glass, he sucked in a quick breath and stared like he thought Dean was a ghost—or perhaps his imagination gone a little too far. Despite his palpable uncertainty, however, Sam stumbled over to the window and slid the pane open.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Sam whispered, throwing a nervous glance behind him towards his door, through which his parents’ room was just down the hall. This, however, wasn’t Dean’s first late-night house call, and he’d already peered into the darkness of Sam’s parents’ bedroom, making sure they were sound asleep before he’d even begun to make his way to the boy’s window.  
  
“I came to see you,” Dean answered with a grin. “You gonna let me in or what?”  
  
Triumphantly, Dean noted that Sam didn’t even hesitate, just reached around the four sides to unlock the screen, pushed it out, and stepped back. Dean climbed through in a practiced, fluid motion that had him landing on his feet right in front of Sam. For just a moment, he paused, a smile playing on his lips at the sight of Sam’s pillow-mussed hair and old-man pajamas. His grin grew wider when he realized how discomfited Sam was with the scrutiny, and the boy lasted exactly one minute under Dean’s amused gaze before nervously demanding:  
  
“ _What_?”  
  
With a shrug and a soft laugh, Dean answered: “I’ve spent the last hour wondering what you wear to bed, just to find you in flannel pajamas and slippers. But shit, Sammy, you sure know how to make ‘em look good.”  
  
Once again caught off-guard, Sam ducked his head and looked down at his slippered feet while a light flush crept over his neck. His embarrassment notwithstanding, the kid looked pleased—had a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth—and after clearing his throat and looking up through his lashes, Sam stated in a low voice: “You know, I look even better out of ‘em.”  
  
Those were Dean’s very own words being echoed back to him, and they also happened to be the best invitation Dean had ever heard. His eyes crinkled in delight and amusement, and, faster than the space of a breath, Dean closed the gap between them and crushed his lips to Sam’s. He could taste the mint from the boy’s toothpaste, sharp and sweet, mixed in with salty skin and something that he remembered as unmistakably Sam.  
  
Before Dean even had a chance to do it himself, Sam was pressing at the seam of Dean’s lips, demanding entry. Dean let out a vibrating laugh as he let the kid in, let Sam lick out the inside of Dean’s cheeks then dip down and curl under his teeth. Damn, the kid had experience, which was all aces with Dean. He definitely preferred his partners on the already-corrupted side.  
  
When Dean’s fingers slid across Sam’s stomach, he could feel the warmth seep deep into his skin as he pushed up the boy’s shirt and tried to pull it over his head. But Sam stubbornly refused to give up Dean’s mouth—even for a moment—and made vehement sounds of protest when Dean tried. Eventually Dean had to literally shove him back to get enough room to hurriedly rip the thing over Sam’s head. Once it was gone, Sam was back on him, wrapping his long arms around Dean and forcing him tight against his chest.  
  
And, okay, some part of Dean found Sam’s unexpected aggression hot. The kid was _big_ , and he could throw Dean around like a fucking rag doll. But there was no way in hell Dean was going to give up control. So he threw his elbows up to break free of Sam’s hold, grabbed the boy’s arms, and maneuvered the both of them onto his bed. After roughly throwing Sam backwards into the mattress, Dean climbed on top, tucking his legs to the sides of Sam’s body and letting all his weight settle onto Sam’s torso.  
  
“ _Fuck_ , Sam.  Now sit back and let me run the damn show,” Dean ordered with a low growl, trying and failing to maintain a dark frown. He sat back on Sam’s hips, pushing his hands against the boy’s upper body to keep him pinned down. Sam didn’t seem cowed in the slightest. He just looked up at Dean with an unrepentant smirk on his face.  
  
“But I’d make it _so good_ for you,” Sam answered with exaggerated wantonness, rolling his hips smooth and dirty underneath Dean, causing the older man’s breath to hitch and his chest to flush in sharp arousal. Sam’s cheeks dimpled in a shit-eating grin as he added: “And I promise to be gentle if it’s your first time taking it, _baby_.”  
  
“Smart-assed punk,” Dean remarked with a snort, pushing Sam’s chest even further into the mattress. Internally rolling his eyes, Dean realized how paper-thin Sam’s shyness really was. How, once things got rolling, apparently all that coyness melted away and left the kid brash and cocky.  
  
Dean moved his hands off Sam’s chest so he could slide fingers into the long, feathery hair splayed out behind his head and leaned down, bringing their chests together and not even protesting when Sam grabbed the backs of Dean’s arms in tight possession. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Sammy, but you’ll be the one taking it up the ass tonight,” Dean promised against Sam’s lips.  
  
Sam made an amused humming sound, clearly too distracted by the heat of Dean’s lips and tongue to answer. Eventually, though, he laughed and replied: “I’m not sorry at all. Besides, there’s always next time.”  
  
 _Hell yeah_ , Dean thought but wisely decided not to voice that aloud. The boy might get ideas.  
  
Instead, he ran his hands down Sam’s body, feeling Sam’s pulsating heartbeats in the pads of his fingertips, before slipping just underneath the band of his pajamas. He had a hard time convincing Sam to relinquish his mouth, but Dean was eventually able to scoot himself down, creating a wet trail from Sam’s mouth to his left hipbone while his hands dragged the boy’s pants down to his ankles.  
  
Dean ultimately ended up on the floor on his knees, Sam’s pajama pants and slippers pooled beside him as he slotted himself inside the V of Sam’s legs. The moment his breath touched the half-hard cock in front of him, he heard Sam gasp and felt the muscles in his thighs tense underneath Dean’s palms.  
  
He started at the root, letting his tongue follow the ridge of the vein before flicking over the tip, right across the slit, and drew another quiet huff from Sam. Damn, the kid was sensitive. He bucked into every slight touch, whimpering like Dean was torturing him. Dean could only imagine the sounds and noises Sam would make if he _wasn’t_ worried about disturbing the other occupants in the house.  
  
When Sam leaned up, carding a hand through Dean’s hair, Dean looked up from between Sam’s thighs, his mouth stretched wide as he sucked Sam down deep.  
  
“Shit, Dean, you look like… fuckin’ killing me.” Sam’s breath was choked off when Dean’s throat muscles fluttered, drool dripping out of his mouth as he let Sam’s cock ride the groove of his tongue. But Sam’s expression had been so earnest, his eyes softened in sincere marvel, and Dean really wanted to know what Sam was seeing. So he pulled off to ask:  
  
“What do I look like?” His own voice was a thin rumble; the words barely recognizable. But Sam understood well enough.  
  
Pressing a thumb against the shine on Dean’s lip, Sam’s eyes studied Dean intently before he shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know,” he answered. “Like everything and nothing I’ve ever seen before.” Hooking the rest of his fingers under Dean’s chin, Sam tugged him up for a quick mash of hard teeth and soft lips. “You look perfect.”  
  
At that point, Dean decided he couldn’t ignore the pressure a moment longer, and he unzipped and pushed his jeans far enough down to let him get a grip on his own dick. He was leaning against Sam’s knee while the boy held him up by his head. As he kept working against his mouth, Dean couldn’t help pushing further into the bare skin there to find a little more friction and heat.  
  
Chuckling, Sam moved his mouth to the side of Dean’s and asked in a heavy breath: “You gonna fuck me yet? Or did you decide to pull over and let me drive?”  
  
“M gettin’ there,” Dean replied heatedly, his words cutting off with a gasp when Sam purposefully slid his knee further into Dean’s crotch, rocking into the sensitized flesh and almost causing Dean to come right then and there. Before he ended up embarrassing himself, Dean pulled back, every inch of his skin protesting against the sudden lack of touch sensation. “Where is—er, do you—?” Fuck, whatever small bit of eloquence Dean possessed was shot to hell as he could barely remember his own name right now.  
  
“Top left drawer,” Sam answered with a laugh, jerking his head towards the side of his bed.  
  
After finding the bottle of lube where Sam had indicated, Dean went back to his knees, aggressively shoving Sam’s legs apart in an attempt to remind the kid who was actually in control and trying to ignore the part of him that was finding the boy’s easy confidence and eagerness extremely hot.  
  
When he pushed in a slick finger, Sam canted his hips further up, moving to find the best angle until Dean slid his finger home, right against Sam’s prostate, causing him to jerk up ever-so-slightly and make a small, muted sound in the back of his throat.  
  
It was on Dean’s tongue to make some comment, to point out how good Sam felt around his fingers, how eager he was to take more. But Dean was tired of talking. He just wanted more skin, more heat, more _Sam_. So he prepped as quickly as he dared then raised Sam’s legs and pushed himself inside.  
  
Sam took it with a quiet exhalation of air, closing his eyes for a moment and letting his head fall back onto the bed. When Dean started pounding in, jolting Sam against the mattress (and hoping the small squeaks didn’t manage to echo their way to Sam’s parents’ room), Sam grabbed onto the blanket and moved his body in orchestrated rhythm to Dean’s.  
  
Dean’s hands were tight on Sam’s hips, his thumbs pressing against the ridges of bone that fit his hands there like they’d been molded for him. After taking a few thrusts, Sam reached down to slide his fingers underneath Dean’s sweat-slicked hand and turned his palm upwards to intertwine their grips. That simple gesture startled Dean, and his eyes rose up to meet Sam’s heavy-lidded gaze.  
  
“More,” Sam pleaded breathlessly, moving his legs up to wrap around Dean’s back. “Harder. I wanna feel this when you’re gone.”  
  
Dean didn’t know how much longer he could hold back, but he started fucking into Sam like the boy wanted, skating that razor-thin edge of orgasm until Sam turned to keen into the side of his own arm, muffling the high sound into his skin. A wish—sharp and sudden—twisted in Dean’s chest, and he nearly pulled Sam up so he could catch those sounds into his mouth, feel them vibrating against his tongue. But it was already too late, and in a flash of low, deep heat, he could feel himself pulsing hard and heavy into Sam, who was bucking into it, thrashing and obviously looking for his own release.  
  
It didn’t take much more than a brush against the boy’s cock to get Sam spurting white and wet and moaning low through the freed pressure.  Not willing to give up a second chance to taste those sounds, Dean shoved himself forward, still firmly sheathed inside Sam, and pressed his mouth into Sam’s, the motion too feverish and desperate to be anything more than a slide of tongue and quick catch of teeth while both their hips rocked languorously against each other.  
  
Eventually their motions calmed down, slowing until all that was left was to pull out and leave. Usually Dean had his exit strategy down pat, smirking as he and threw blithe promises and empty praise over his shoulder while on his way out the door. But he didn’t really want to leave this time; he still had the echoes of Sam’s “next time” rattling in his head. And when Sam put his hand on Dean’s stomach and shoved his face into the side of Dean’s chest, Dean found his choice already made.  
  
“Stay,” Sam mumbled tiredly.  
  
“Your dad won’t freak out if he finds me here come morning?” Dean asked, already putting his arm around Sam’s shoulder.  
  
“I don’t care.” The words were yawned out, and Sam buried himself further into Dean’s warmth. “’Sides, the door’s locked. Just shut up and sleep.”  
  
Chuckling to himself, Dean did as he was told, finding it strangely easy to take orders from this kid. Briefly, he wondered how far that submission would run, exactly what he’d be willing to do if Sam asked for it in just the right way. But in the end he told that inner voice to go fuck itself. He didn’t really care. Staying just felt good in the way Dean’s hadn’t been for a long time.


End file.
